


I just really want to sleep.

by AnnaFaie



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Fluff, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-07 20:04:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21463780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaFaie/pseuds/AnnaFaie
Summary: Harry just wanted to get some sleep after a game, but it seemed the entire world was against him.Set during the World Cup 2018.
Relationships: Harry Kane/Gareth Southgate
Kudos: 34





	I just really want to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Я просто хочу поспать](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/535465) by Defying Gravity. 

Harry valued the friendship within the squad more than anything. He valued it so much that when Jesse Lingard knocked on his door wanting desperately to discuss the previous day’s game, he did not chase him away. Even if he really did want to sleep. No, that was an understatement. He wanted to sleep more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life. He wanted to sleep nearly as much as he wanted...well, never mind.

He’d been so nervous before the game that he’d not slept for two days, and then the adrenaline and over-stimulation had kept him awake. During the morning training session Southgate had taken one look at him and immediately ordered him to go back to his room and sleep for a few hours. And Harry always obeyed Southgate.

None of that mattered to Lingard. He was happy, and naturally wanted to share his happiness with everyone. 

“Listen, Jesse...” Harry said as amicably as was possible, “you’d heard what Southgate said this morning, I...”

Another knock on the door interrupted him. Turned out, Rashford also wanted to discuss the victory with his beloved captain. At least, that’s what Rashford said, before proceeding to engage in a prolonged discussion of the Panama captain’s haircut with Jesse. And after Dele and Dier also invaded his room, Harry found himself in the middle of a mini-party, complete with music, laughter and dancing. 

Harry was inclined to send them all away, but it seemed Southgate’s politeness was rubbing off on him. He didn’t want to ruin the lads’ celebrations, so he left his room in search of some peace and quiet. He’d get his revenge on them in the Prem.

*

Having reasonably concluded that peace and quiet was wherever Jesse was not, Harry headed for the lounge. There was a large television set, a sofa, and a few armchairs. More importantly, there wasn’t a soul to be found there. Harry stretched out on the sofa, and almost immediately began to fall asleep. Just as he thought he was going to sleep like a baby, someone touched his shoulder. 

It took all the strength he could muster to open his eyes. Maguire and Pickford were stood over him. 

“You okay, Harry?” Maguire asked.

“Gareth told me to get some sleep, which is what I’m trying to do,” Harry said honestly. 

“Yeah, you could do with some sleep,” Pickford admitted. “Go on, we won’t bother you, just waiting for our tv show to start.”

“Since when do you two watch tv shows?”

“Got hooked recently,” shrugged Pickford. “We’d missed yesterday’s episode, don’t wanna miss another one.”

“We’ll watch it quietly and leave,” promised Maguire. 

Harry believed him: they’d rarely let him down. Or, rather, he really didn’t want to move, so he chose to believe them. 

He did fall asleep for a bit, but soon woke up because he heard something...absolutely absurd. Pickford and Maguire were sat in the plush armchairs, whispering to each other furiously. 

“The army of armed bears will be really useful in the fight against the evil Reapers", started Pickford.

“The Time Lords have organised a solid defence, they might not even need to bring in the foxes,” continued Maguire. 

Harry tried to figure out whether he was still in the same dimension as before.

“What. The. Hell. Is. Going. On?”

“Oh!” Pickford jumped. “Sorry, Harry.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Maguire looked vaguely embarrassed. 

“It’s some Russian tv show,” he explained, “Jordan and I really like it, but it’s in Russian, so we don’t understand anything. We make up our own dialogue for fun.”

“Wonderful,” was all Harry could say. 

Just then, Jamie Vardy entered the lounge, looking no better than Harry. 

“Enjoying Russian culture, lads?” he asked. “Harry! I thought Gareth sent you off to sleep.”

“If the world was the way Gareth wanted it to be, it would be a place of perfection,” Harry said darkly. 

“We tried not to disturb him,” Maguire said.

“You tried.”

“Right,” laughed Vardy. “Harry, mate, I was also gonna nap for a few hours. My room has two beds, so help yourself to one. Tired people should help each other out.”

At that moment, Vardy was the best person in the world.

*

Who could have guessed that Vardy snored quite so loudly.

*

Harry decided to go to Henderson’s room. He grumbled a bit but allowed Harry in, and left to practice his penalties. Harry threw himself onto the bed and closed his eyes, and promptly felt something weird. He turned to face the other way, but the unsettled feeling did not go away. 

“What the...?” muttered Harry. And then understood what was wrong. A chance glance at the bedside table gave him the answer.

Adam Lallana was staring at him from a framed photo. Harry liked Adam (though not as much as Henderson did), and had been gutted for him when he wasn’t called up for the World Cup, but he wasn’t going to sleep with the man staring at him. 

Harry put the frame to face down, but still couldn’t fall asleep. He knew Lallana was there, and was it irritating him. 

Well, Henderson’s room wasn’t an option either.

*

Having realized he wasn’t going to get any rest in the hotel, Harry decided to try his luck outside. He’d noticed a sunbed a few days ago, one conveniently hidden behind some shrubbery, in the pleasant, cool shade of the building. Granted, a sunbed wasn’t the best place for restful sleep, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

Harry placed his head on the pillow he had nicked from Henderson’s room, and readied himself for sleep. However, the local mosquitoes has different ideas. One of them was buzzing just above Harry’s ear, and every attempt to kill the flying pest was futile. Not being content with the vocal performance, the buggers then decided to get a taste of Harry’s blood.

Swearing quietly, Harry sat up and wondered where else when could go. 

“Look, look, there’s a kitten!” Trent Alexander-Arnold’s voice carried across the yard. 

“I think it’s stuck in that tree,” answered Ashley Young.

“I think we need to rescue it.” Trent, it seemed, was planning to climb up said tree, but Young intervened. 

“Stop, it could be dangerous. Remember what Southgate told us when he dislocated his shoulder?”

“To make sure he’d be the only injured one. But we need to rescue the cat.”

“We also can’t be climbing trees. Maybe we could call one of the staff members...”

Harry lost it.

“Maybe you don’t need to rescue it. Maybe it’s just trying to get some bloody rest!” He yelled across the yard.

The spooked cat promptly jumped off the tree and disappeared in the nearby bushes.

*

Harry remembered that the dining room had a little sofa. Of course, he’d need to contort himself in order to fit onto it, but Harry didn’t care. In turned out that he didn’t need to bother: the dining room was already occupied by Cahill, who was animatedly discussing a guinea pig’s health with his daughter via Skype.

Any other day, Harry would have found the scene adorable. Today, however, he barely smothered his irritation and left, so as not to disturb the idyllic scene.

*

Reaching new levels of desperation, Harry decided that the floor of the gym, which was meant to be empty on their day off, wasn’t the worst option. Alas, Trippier, Stirling and Butland had also decided this was the perfect arena for an inflatable unicorn fight. They were so engrossed in their battle that they did not even notice Harry. But Harry now knew where Maguire and Pickford got inspiration for their “dialogues”.

*

All of this just confirmed to Harry that there was only one person who could help him. At the very least, Lingard wasn’t likely to barge into his room, and he wasn’t likely to be a fan of Russian tv shows. He also probably did not own a framed photo of Lallana. So, gathering the remnants of his sanity, Harry headed to his manager’s room.

“Harry?” Southgate frowned, but Harry could tell he was happy to see him. “I thought I said I didn’t want to see you until you got some rest.”

Harry positively threw himself at Gareth. Gareth always did like hugs, and hugging him was very enjoyable, on and off the field. 

“I think I’ll only get some sleep here,” he muttered, not even attempting to detach himself from the manager. “I like being with you. You don’t bang on about armies of bears, you don’t dance salsa, I hope you don’t snore, and there aren’t any mosquitoes here.”

“Dare I ask...?”

“No. I’ll tell you later, when I’ve slept. Gareth, please, I think I’m going to die.”

“Alright, you can sleep here. But I was just going to rewatch the game, and might disturb you.”

“You won’t.”

“I can watch it with headphones on,” offered Gareth. This made Harry melt inside. The man was even better than he’d thought he was.

“Nah, don’t bother. Maybe I’ll watch it with you.”

“Okay,” Gareth moved Harry aside, “I need you rested for the game with Sweden.”

Harry moved away reluctantly, and hurled himself onto the sofa. Gareth turned the recording on and sat down next to him, and Harry immediately wrapped himself around Gareth and buried his nose in the man’s shoulder. Nothing was going to disturb him now.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Gareth asked, not attempting to extract himself.

“I am now,” smiled Harry, feeling himself falling into the depths of slumber. 

Before he did, he remembered kissing Gareth’s shoulder. Or he might have already been dreaming.


End file.
